Nelma answered the phone this morning,not an unusual event in itself. It was a phone call from my mother. Usually a happy occasion because my mother is 80 years old and it is always good to hear her voice. As Nelma brought the phone up stairs to me she said, "mother says, she has some bad news to tell you." As all of you, I am sure are painfully aware, this is not the way one would like to start any conversation with their mother or anyone else.
Through her sobs and tears she ultimately gave me the "bad news." She informed me that my sister just found out that she has breast cancer. They had just received the biopsy result and were going to the doctor to discuss treatment options. Treatment options seems like such an innocuous phrase doesn't it? Yet, we all know that it usually means surgery, radiation, chemo-therapy or a combination of these. What is it about those three small words "you have cancer" that strike fear into our hearts? I have heard those words before but never about my sister, my only sister.
I remember sitting in the doctor's office with Nelma as her father received those three ominous words, "you have cancer." It was a bitter pill to swallow when I sat with my own father and heard the doctor say, "you have cancer." I have shared this moment with more families than I can recall throughout the years. Some were survivors others were not. Some survived for years only to hear "the cancer has returned." These words seem to have a life all there own that needs no specific context to make them real. They are dreaded, dark, oppressive and frightening. They exist in a world all there own. Why can't I shake the foreboding feeling that these three little words conjure in my mind?
As I ponder my own attitude about the pink baseball bats on mother's day. Or as I reflect obsessively on the pink ribbons and the walk for the cure. I recognize all of these things raise an awareness of breast cancer, yet it seldom seems real until it affects us personally. It is easy for us to smile and think, "What a good thing that they are doing." They are involved in such a noble cause. I can't help but think, I would like to walk for my sister. But is that only because now it it real?
However, is it only when it strikes a family member that we suddenly become more aware and engaged? Still I have walked through this dark valley with countless other families and dear friends. I can't even recall how many hospital waiting rooms or even how many funerals through the years. I still see so many of the faces. I recall both agony and serenity on so many faces. I wonder what does it say about me and what does it all mean?
The broader truth is that we are waging a battle, a life and death struggle, and it is not in "a galaxy far far away." It is right here in our own little cosmos, this microcosm, our own third rock from the sun. It is not only cancer, it Alzheimer's, MS, Lou Gehrig's disease, depression, diabetes and heart disease. Faithful warriors waging the battle of their life often in a lost cause, yet they battle on day after day. Would I have such courage in the face of decay?
We have friends who have family members suffering with Alzheimer's. Everyday is a life and death struggle. It is difficult to watch this disease take its toll on a loved one day after day. Someone who is alive but not really living. Always hoping for that one good day, you know the one I mean, when they recognize who you are, when you are known by someone who should know you so well.
I have shared far too many memories like this with friends, family and those of my fellowship. Why do I have so many memories like this? What am I to do with the memories?
All my life I seem to be battling the "dark side."
Just somethings to think about along the way.
Bob
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